


Brooklyn's where?

by SGSKHKT



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25645705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SGSKHKT/pseuds/SGSKHKT
Summary: In which everything is the same except Davey is Spot's second in Brooklyn.
Relationships: slight davey jacobs/jack kelly
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Brooklyn's where?

"Ay, Brooklyn, tink ya can catch us a meetin' wit' Conlon?"

Davey frowns and turns.

Manhattans.

More specifically, Jack Kelly and Racetrack Higgins.

In his selling spot (well, technically he's in Manhattan's turf but Race is usually always in Brooklyn's turf so he figures it cancels out).

With no papers.

"Why do you want a meeting with Spot? Why aren't you selling at your usual spots? And where are your papes?"

Jack puts his hands up in mock surrender, dodging all of Davey's questions.

"Relax, I ain't startin' no turf war. Okay? I need Brooklyn's help."

"Brooklyn as in me or Brooklyn as in the newsies?"

"Both, since I ain't exactly gettin' one wit'out de other."

Davey raises an eyebrow and gestures to Race.

"Why don't you ask him instead? He's always selling at Sheepshead. He's practically a Brooklyn."

"Yea, but Is a Manhattan. Yous a Brooklyn. 'Sides, I ain't Spot Conlon's second," Race drawls casually.

"You ain't, but you're Jack's"

"C'mon, Mouth, I needs Spot's help wit' dis," Jack practically whines which is unfair because it was adorable.

Wait, no, that was queer.

It was unfair because ladies would think it was adorable and they'd buy more papes from him.

Better.

"And what is 'this'?" he asks instead, handing a paper to a lady passing by who give him a coin.

"The strike."

Davey stills.

"The what?"

"The strike?" Jack repeats.

Davey almost drops his papers.

"Like de trolley workers? Why de fuck are you organisin' a strike?"

He's unsure whether Jack and Race look more shocked at his sudden cursing or his sudden accent.

"They upped the prices to 60 cents per hundred," Jack says.

Davey shifts the papers in his arms.

"I know, they did the same in Brooklyn."

"Exactly! See theys tinks we're nothin'. But we ain't! And dey gotta learn dat."

The sudden excitement in his voice was so fucking adora-

Annoying. It was annoying. Not adorable.

"You can't strike, you're not a union," he says matter-of-factly, he hands another paper to a passer-by.

Jack frowns and looks to Race who shrugs.

"What do we gotta do to be a union then?"

"A membership."

"What d'ya call the Manhattan newsies then?" Jack laughs.

"Officers."

Jack pauses.

"Me?"

"I nominate Jack President," Race pipes up.

"Gee, I'm touched," Jack says, taking a bow and holding his _stupid_ cowboy hat to his chest.

Jack Kelly was not cute.

David Jacobs was not queer.

If only he could fuckin' remember that.

"Statement of purpose," he continued.

The Manhattans stare at him in confusion.

"A reason for forming the union," he elaborates.

"What reason did the trolley workers have?" Jack asks.

Davey scowls.

"I don't know, wages? Work hours? Safety on the job?"

Both Manhattans frown.

"Who don't need that?"

Davey shrugs. 

"Our union is formed to watch each other's backs then. We can't just roll over and let Pulitzer and Hearst pick our pockets," Jack continues.

Jack _really_ needed to stop being so damn convincing because Davey was a second away from setting his papers on fire and abandoning his loyalty to Brooklyn.

He didn't, though.

"The union has to vote if they want to strike," he tries.

Jack grins.

"D'ya see any Manhattans sellin' papes?"

He looks around.

He doesn't.

He sighs.

"Have you told anyone? Any of the higher-ups?"

"I told Weasel this mornin' and Jack got kicked outta Pulitzer's office, does that count?" Race asks.

It did count.

He relents.

"Alright, I'll get you that meeting. Why the formality anyways? Can't you just walk into Brooklyn and ask to speak to Spot?"

Both boys had the audacity to look sheepish.

"We ain't about to strut into Brooklyn and be faced with 'bout 20 of his gang."

Davey bites back a laugh.

"You're gonna have to face about 20 of our gang if you wanna talk to Spot anyways. I can get you 'cross the bridge but me vouching for you ain't gonna change that."

The Manhattans look at each other then back at Davey.

"Let's go then, ya wit' us Davey?"

Davey looks down.

No papes left.

"Sure, let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> look, i dont know what im writing here but i love the concept too much to leave it in my brain
> 
> if any more talented writers wanna write this au go right ahead i would love to read it
> 
> jack is dressed like 1992 jack but this entire sequence is based on the musical because his 1992 outfit is superior but ive only watched the musical
> 
> if you for some reason enjoyed this, leave a kudos and/or comment and thank you in advance if you do sp


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